


01001000 01101001 01110011 01110011 01100101 01110010 01100001

by FlowerCrownOfPoppy



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Gen, M/M, and futuristic things in general, bull is a cyborg, canon based homophobia, dorian is a hacker, i'm a sucker for cyberpunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerCrownOfPoppy/pseuds/FlowerCrownOfPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world runs on data. Dorian runs on caffeine and a secret he will take to his grave, probably, though "probably" is never a certain thing with the Iron Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01010110 01101001 01110010 01110101 01110011

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the first season of Mr.Robot and it was fantastic. Combined with listening to Watch Dogs's theme I had the perfect mood set for this thing. Unbeta'd and messy and completely self indulgent. Enjoy.

This deep into Val Royeaux the stars never shined; far too many holograms and advertisements lit up the night in a glitzy multicolored glow. Nestled in the heart of all of that was White Spire. Appropriately named, it appeared carved out of the earth and pierced the neon daze of Val Royeaux, shooting bright light into the heavens. 

Even Dorian had to admire it. Elegance in simplicity was a rarity in the overstated glamour of Val Royeux. It was a shame the advanced turrets mounted atop every conceivable entrance were such an eyesore. 

Thankfully White Spire wasn’t his target. The Chantry had recognized the benefits in housing portions of its data off-site: more discreet, less heavily guarded to maintain that discreetness. Still just as likely for you to wind up getting shot the second you placed a foot beyond the established perimeter. 

What better way in than through the front door? 

Dorian tapped his fingers impatiently against the ID clipped to his belt. The name on it wasn’t Dorian – belonged to a man who’d died seven months ago, in fact. They’d taken his identity, replaced his face, then slipped it back into the system as if nothing had changed at all. Leliana’s agents had had a ball with that part.

The guard at the gate gave him only a cursory glance after checking his ID before he drove straight into the parking lot. Somehow he hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Even the most rudimentary of spy thriller novels assured him the two templars at the reception desk would start glaring at him suspiciously. 

He was actually disappointed, then surprised over his disappointment. The receptionist was an elf, a pretty young thing with manicured nails she was currently too busy filing to so much as cast a glance in his direction. Still he kept his pace unhurried, his smile bright as he approached her and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, are you the fine young woman I chatted with earlier this morning?” He tried to be more reserved in his charm, most Circle technicians he’d met lacked charisma. No need to overplay it.

The elf lifted her head and blinked in surprise. “Er, monsieur Howle?” It definitely was her, the same light Orlesian lilt to her words. 

“That would be me,” Dorian said, smile turning into a grin. He could already tell he had her, the lines around her mouth softening.

“You’re quite punctual. We weren’t expecting IT for another twenty minutes,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes well, the trend of arriving fashionably late has been usurped by the even more fashionable arriving early.”

This got a giggle out of her, whether because she thought he was genuinely funny or was simply twitterpated by his good looks he couldn’t tell. Hardly mattered, though it did wonders for the ego.

“It certainly speaks volumes about your character that you would arrive much sooner than your colleagues,” she said, setting her filer down. “Do you need an escort to data storage?”

“No, no, though I appreciate the hospitality,” he said with a friendly yet dismissive wave of his hand. The templars eyed him him with glazed over expressions, looking so terribly bored he almost pitied them. Almost. “I’ll be able to handle myself here, thank you.”

The hallways are too brightly lit. He feels exposed, eyes both biological and digital watching him as he walked by in a casual stride. He doesn’t risk tapping on the comm nestled in his ear, there’s no way to tell how many of those eyes belong to Bull yet.

“Data Storage” is etched on a tall steel door with about as much fanfare as any other, surface brushed to a pristine white. Dorian barely repressed a frown at the sight. The overall dreadful design of this facility is what he’s come to expect of southern Templars. It’s too barren and cold for him to truly believe the employees enjoy wasting away their hours here, particularly when most of those are spent protecting data few have the resources to steal.

Unlucky for them he’s one of the few.

As he entered data banks slid out of the floor with a hiss, multicolored lights bathing the room in a festive glow. Dorian let out a whistle and pulled out his laptop.

“It seems the devout are richly rewarded after all,” he chimed, comm buzzing faintly. It was a reassuring sound in this electric tomb.

“Tell me about it,” Bull huffed. His voice seemed smaller through the earbud, tinnier. “Look at all this shit. The processing power in here could keep half of Orlais running.”

“And we’re going to ruin it,” Dorian chuckled with a glee that would sound maniacal coming from any other man, “Well, mostly _I’m_  going to ruin it. Can you see me?”

“Yeah, they’ve got at least 6 cameras in here. I took 3 of them offline – look to your right.”

Dorian’s head whipped to the right. The little red light atop the camera blinked as if winking. He gave Bull a friendly wave before setting his laptop down.

“Remind me not to bathe or undress near any cameras anytime soon,“ Dorian said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Not even the abysmal audio quality could drown out the rich warmth in Iron Bull’s laugh.

“Hey, I don’t peep on people I actually  _want_  to fuck,” Bull huffed, “Takes away some of the thrill. Though if you’re ever into charging I know a guy, he’d hook you up with a sweet contract … “

“Oh stuff it, you lummox,” Dorian snorted, “I’m assuming you’ve got the password.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what tapping the phones was for,” Bull snorted back. There is a creaking noise, probably Bull leaning back in his chair. “C2YN7SC80.”

“Hold on, I haven’t even started up the damn thing,” Dorian snapped, hastily tapping the power button at the main terminal. For all its sleek decoration the interface was fairly simple. Templars wielded their taste in minimalism militantly.

“You’re smart enough to remember that. I’m not repeatin’ it.” Dorian can hear the grin in Bull’s voice and promptly turns his head to flip off the camera. 

“ _Vishante kaffas._  See if you get a certain handsome ‘Vint in your bed this evening.”

“You know, we can hear  _both_  of you,” cut in a third voice. Ah, Cassandra, tone dripping with disappointment and disdain as always. It really did sound lovely on her.

“You wanna join in?” Bull always offered and seemed no less deterred when each offer was turned down. Cassandra’s resounding, “ugh,” was only met with more snickering.

 _Right, ignore them._ Dorian’s fingers hardly lifted from the keyboard as he entered the password. This was one of the most critical storage facilities for the White Spire and the only resistance it offered was a fingerprint scanner. Barbarians, these southerners. 

The print he’d lifted earlier worked easily enough and a reserved yet cheerful AI chimed, “Welcome, Knight-Commander Eron,” before the desktop flickered to life. 

Dorian’s lips pursed together as he said, “Bull, how long have I got?”

“About 12 minutes. After that, can’t say how long until someone raises the alarm.”

“How generous,” Dorian said airily, “I only need 10.” It would take 5 minutes for installing the bootkit (which he’d spent _weeks_  developing, thank you,) and another 5 to test how successful its integration was with the system. He’d need less than one to pack up his tools and make his exit without any fanfare. Maybe he’d bow at the cameras once for flourish. Bull would certainly get a kick out of that.

The flash drive felt heavier than usual in his hands. His heart sped up a bit as he fiddled with it, plastic and rubber smooth against his fingertips. 

“Er, Dorian?” Bull’s flirtatious tone has fled. “Make that 11 minutes. Security guards are switching out already.”

“You know, I could’ve sworn that a qunari that looked just like you told me only yesterday they’d procured a schedule of guard rotations,” Dorian said, his tone just this side of biting, “It must’ve been some other one-eyed cyborg.” 

“You done throwing your hissy fit? I didn’t feed you bullshit before you left –” Dorian interrupted him with a groan at that _insufferable_  pun, “–I’ve got the schedule up on my screen. Nothing’s changed on the record.”

Change is as simple as inserting a flash drive and doubleclicking on an .exe file. WARNING: t _his program comes from an unknown publisher. Are you sure you want to run it?_

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said, clicking the same word on the screen, “But it happened anyway. No matter, we can adapt. You have control over cameras outside of this room I hope.”

“Already ahead of you. I’ll let you know if someone’s coming, big guy.”  
  
Silence fills uncomfortably between them like the installation bar on the screen. Despite time growing more urgent he can’t bring himself to look away, watching the installer race through all of its options, addons and false advertisements. Bull’s voice broke him out of it seconds later. 

“The Boss just told me what you’re uploading,” Bull said, “How you managed to cook up a bootkit on your own like that I don’t know, but nice work.”

“Yes well, noble causes and all that. I joined for a reason,” Dorian said, returning to his own computer, “Aside from the money and fame, of course.” The command prompt window was open and at the ready, waiting for him to hit enter. All the installer had to do was finish.

“With the way everyone treats you I’d say you’re headed more toward infamy.”

“Well, infamy is of a type of fame I suppose,” Dorian said, careful in keeping the frustration out of his voice. At the very least Bull wouldn’t see his frown, even with all cameras pointed on him.

“ … Hey, Bull,” Dorian sighed, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry about what I said. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Bull drawled with a warmth that definitely did  _not_  trickle into Dorian and make his mouth dry, not at all, “All of us are stretched pretty thin right now. When’s the last time you slept?”

“When was the last time one of Sera’s pranks featured a jar of bees?”

“Yesterday.”

“Add a day and a half to that.”

Bull whistled low, the sound coming in too sharp through the earbud and making Dorian wince. “Shit, I can see why you’re cranky. Five minutes left.”

“I’m making good time, it finished twenty seconds ago.” He was eagerly tapping away, brows furrowed in concentration. All that was left was to ensure the bootkit was working properly, tie up any loose ends and make his escape. He got up and removed the flash drive, shoving it in his pocket. The desktop was clean, no sign of the trojan installer. He clicked “reboot” and went back to his laptop. 

“We’re in,” Cassandra said after what felt like an age of silence, “Well done, Dorian.”

“I know,” Dorian said with no small amount of pride, practically grinning from ear to ear. He watched the databank lights blink off and on again, dozens of machines whirring in unison. With a few commands he bypassed the startup window, testing just how far he could go. He pulled up applications, opened files, even browsed personnel records. All remote. Complete control.

Maker, there was so much data. 

“Uh, Dorian,” Bull cut in, “Don’t mean to alarm you, but you should’ve been out of there 30 seconds ago.”

“ _Kaffas.”_ With a single command he managed to remotely send the computer into hibernation mode.He nearly tripped over himself as he slammed his laptop shut, shoving it back in his bag. Arguing crackled through the headpiece and as he turned to leave Bull’s voice pierced through it all.

“Don’t go out, 3 coming in,  _hide_.”

Bull hadn’t even finished his sentence before Dorian was dashing for cover behind the massive data banks. A blink later the door banged open, footsteps pattering on the marble floor. The echo of them off the walls sent Dorian into a cold sweat.

“2 templars, 1 tranquil,” Bull whispered, and Dorian barely heard it over the pounding of his own heart, “Don’t move a fucking muscle.” 

Dorian did just that; breathe in quietly, breathe out.

“Did you see that?” one voice said incredulously. Middle aged, probably, Orlesian accent. “Bloody power surge. That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

“Void if I know.” Another voice, a bit softer but unmistakably Ferelden. There was a clang. “Even expensive computers can do that shite.”

“Still – Illandris, you’ve got the password.”

“As you wish, ser,” the tranquil responded. Dorian heard the telltale clacking of the keyboard and then a soft beeping noise. More clacking, more soft beeping.

The minute that passed was one of the most nerve-wracking in Dorian’s relatively short life, and coming from the Imperium that was saying something.

“I have initiated a full scan of all systems. The process will take approximately 36 hours –”

“Andraste’s flaming tits, that’s  _way_  too long. I’m not sticking around for that!”

“To ensure that no data has been compromised, I am following protocol as mandated by Knight-Commander Eron himself. Do you have any further objections?”

Both templars seemed to be shocked into silence. If Dorian wasn’t already quiet he might have been, too. That was the closest thing to sass he’d ever heard a tranquil achieve. 

“Er, well. I suppose it’s not the end of the world,” the Fereldan said, uncertainty bleeding through his tone, “Might as well fuck off and get some lunch.”

“So long as we don’t have to eat it in this shithole,” the irritable Orlesian replied, “I’ve been working here for seven years and this place is almost as creepy as The Pit in White Spire.”

They left sharing the same inane chatter, footsteps quickly fading away. Dorian’s fingernails dug into the surface of the data bank he’d pressed himself up against. Based upon the sudden jelly-like feeling in his legs he was certain he would’ve slid down it otherwise.

“Shit, that was close,” Bull said, voice rough with relief.

“Really?” Dorian snapped, righting himself and stepping out of cover, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Love you too. Now get your pretty ‘Vint ass out of there.”


	2. 0100011101101000011011110111001101110100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent all day writing this instead of doing homework because I love to suffer. This is going to be 3 chapters instead of 2 now, I don't know when to stop apparently. I completely guessed at how long it would take to get from Val Royeaux to Lydes by train, if anyone has a more accurate approximation let me know. Also I wanted to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who's kudo'd and commented on my fic so far, holy moly I wasn't expecting this level of positive feedback so quickly. You guys really gave me the push I needed to make more of this, thank you so much. <3

He doesn't go out the same way he came in. The entire facility is sloggish in raising an alert which means his bootkit worked -- if they'd found anything he would already be in chains. Or dead. Not much fun lingering on either possibility. He'd been a bit ballsy bringing his cellphone here but Dorian would be nothing if he wasn't bold.

The cameras here have seen his face which means this next part regrettably requires him to operate from a place where no cameras could be, unless Templars were a perverse lot. He stifled a groan entering the bathroom and banged the stall door behind him before yanking out his phone. Bull's number hovers in bright little letters as he sends him a text.

 _In position_.

"Good," Bull growled, suspiciously similar to the way he growled  _good_  in Dorian's bed last week. He's certain the bastard does it on purpose. "Should be easy bypassing security protocols from here. There's no cameras or audio recording devices. Already checked."

Dorian frowned and nearly leaned against the stall door before thinking better of it and reeling away. Maker's balls, he must be more tired than he thought. 

 _Bull_ , he tapped out, then paused. All he can hear is the faint exhalation of Bull's breath. It would be erotic in any other scenario.  _Is this necessary?_

"The Boss said it is," Bull said carefully. "Look, there's nothing in this sector people rely on to survive. Nobody's gonna die."

 _But they will get hurt_.

"Some of 'em might, yeah. Depends on what the Templars do. Look, Red's already got it covered. Not everything is up to you and your fancy hacking skills, big guy. You're playing on a team out here."

Dorian's frown deepened. The application is sitting there on his screen, just waiting for him to hit launch. He doesn't have time to waste.

_You better have the gate unlocked for me, I'm not stopping once I'm clear._

He tapped on the application and his screen pixelated for a moment, flickering a couple of times before settling on a map of the entire facility. He zoomed in on the generator room.

"We've set up a delay. You'll have twenty minutes to clear the sector before the real show begins." Bull sounded excited and Dorian knew he'd be watching every second of it, somehow.

With a few more taps he set up a command for the generators to overload.  _Confirm override_ _?_  popped up on the screen. His thumb hovered over it as he pursed his lips and hit  _yes._  He caught a glimpse of his phone returning to the home screen before shoving it in his pocket. He hastily left the stall and went over to the sink, dabbing water on his eyes.

Twenty minutes counting down.  _Act natural now, Dorian._  With a deep breath he managed to settle his face into barely restrained grief and power walked down the hallway, ignoring the confused looks he was getting.

The receptionist raised her head in surprise but her eyes softened in sympathy when she noticed Dorian's were wet. "Monsieur Howle, is everything alright?" Her voice was so soft and trusting, Dorian adored it.

"Not really, no. I've . . . just received some unfortunate news regarding my father," he said, voice rough with sorrow. How funny that the thought filled him with more joy than anything. "My apologies, I must go to the hospital immediately."

"That's alright," she said, giving him a thoughtful nod. "Maker go with you and your father, serah."

"Thank you my lady," he choked out, waddling out of the facility like a man truly bereft. His facial muscles were starting to cramp and Bull's amused chortle wasn't helping.

"Shit, you should've been an actor. Orlesian television would eat out of the palm of your hand."

"Now there's a pretty image," Dorian whispered, wiping his eyes dry as soon as he got in the car. The gate was open and the guard was baffled by it. He yelled as Dorian pulled out without so much as a wave, his tires practically shredding asphalt in their wake.

"Alright Bull, how much time have I got?"

"17 minutes."

"Hmm. Maybe I should stop to get dinner." Dorian banked hard right, ignoring the frantic honk of the vehicle behind him. Why was everyone in this city so painfully  _slow_? "I have so much free time I don't know what else to do with it."

"Hey, I was gonna take you out tonight."

"Since when was dinner part of your usual foreplay repertoire?"

"Can't a man just be hungry and horny without always combining the two?" He could picture Bull's grotesquely attractive face sulking as he said it.  _The road, dammit, focus on the road._

"So you _do_ want to fuck me?" Dorian gasped, grinning as he cut through a red light. No Val Royeux PD vehicles yet which means Leliana upheld her end of the bargain. He'd have to remember to send her a gift basket.

"I want to buy you dinner."

"Maker's breath, both of you switch to a private channel," Cassandra snapped, and a mirthful snort escaped Dorian. Bull's laughter was larger than life, lingered in Dorian's ears and his chest and unmentionables all the way to public transit.

He parked the car in the lot and took the keys with him. He wouldn't be coming back to it but whoever picked it up next would have their own set. Best not to leave anything behind.

He made his way to the platform with an innocuous whistle and tapped the comm off, sliding it into his jacket pocket. His work was done and there was no need to torture the poor Seeker any more than necessary. Whatever other flirting they exchanged could be done through text.

 _This is the boring part_ , Dorian typed, easily following the flow of foot traffic as dozens of men and women boarded the train. A friendly AI chimed its usual welcoming tune, the words  _Val_ _Royeaux_ _South Station_  blinking on the overhead hologram projector.

_hey, at least u have me :-)_

Dorian groaned inwardly -- he could never eradicate Bull's habit of using emoticons, particularly the more obnoxious ones.

_Like I said, the boring part._

_we both know u love it ;-)_

Dorian raised his head when a shudder rolled through the train. He could feel every compartment whirring, the familiar lurch of it pulling out of the station.

"Now leaving Val Royeaux South Station," the AI chimed again, "Next arrival will be Lydes Central Station in approximately 60 minutes. Please avoid walking or running while the train is in motion, Val Royeaux humbly thanks you for your visit. We hope to see you again."

_You know what I don't love? Open bodies of water. You know what this bloody train spends most of its time traveling over?  An open body of water._

_aww_ _, need me 2 come over there & kiss it all better?_

Dorian barely repressed a smile. His chest really needed to stop doing this ridiculous getting-all-warm-and-fuzzy thing every time the Bull said something insufferably sappy. It was a bad habit to get into (and not one he was sure he could break).

_I need you to fuck me until I forget how to spell "ocean" more like._

_wow, we might not make it 2 dinner after all_ _lol_

Dorian hated Bull's terrible typing habits, his raucous laughter and infuriating use of emoticons. He hated them so much he was breathless at the thought of just  _seeing him_ again and Maker, where had this come from? He should've known tangling with a qunari would have its consequences. These 60 long minutes were going to be torture.

_I would send you something titillating to tide you over but there's currently over a dozen people crowded within a few feet of me._

_lol, "tide". nice one_

_Oh shut up, you know I'm too tired for that to be intentional._

One of those people stood out to him suddenly and it made him pause when he felt the familiar buzz of a new message in his palm. It was a boy, couldn't be older than 21, grungy looking with his torn jeans and patched jacket. A beanie covered most of his hair but the rest hung down the sides of his face in a greasy tangle, pale gold against paler skin. Cornflower blue eyes stared at Dorian openly, unblinking. He did nothing particularly odd, hadn't moved an inch besides the gentle swaying of the train. 

"Erm, hello?" Dorian said, keeping his voice at a relatively low level. The boy didn't respond. He said it again and there was still no response from the boy, not even a twitch. "Why are you staring like that?" His neighbors exchanged baffled if not wary glances with each other. He settled back into his seat and glared at his phone, rubbing at his tired eyes. Why were they looking at him as if  _he_ was the loony? Did they have no concept of basic etiquette? No matter.

_and u know me, i'm a pretty patient guy ;-)_

_You went almost 4 whole responses without a smiley or winking face. A new record._

He considered mentioning the strange boy to Bull but when he looked up that beanie was already halfway down the train car, slinking between the few inches of space he had like water. No one so much as glanced in his direction and when they parted to give him room they did so with no acknowledgement at all. Dorian rubbed at his eyes again and when he looked up once more the boy was gone. His brows arched and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course everyone had looked at him funny, he was talking to a bloody  _hallucination_. He was thankful Bull would be picking him up in Lydes seeing as driving at this point would be a hazard.

The view as the train set out over the water was breathtaking. Dozens if not hundreds of photographers had snapped images of Val Royeaux in its entirety from this vantage point, all of its intricate skyscrapers blending in seamlessly with spires thousands of years old. Historians gawked over them and artists swooned, hoping to capture some essence of its glory with a brush or pen. None of it mattered a jot to Dorian who managed to send one more reply to Bull before promptly passing out.

"Now arriving in Lydes Central Station." The AI's voice failed to pull Dorian back into the waking world but the train jarring to a stop certainly did. His phone nearly flew out of his hand when he startled.

There were two messages from Bull. The last one was sent ten minutes after the first and simply said  _sleep tight, big guy_. Dorian sighed and scrubbed at his eyes once more before following the crowd out of the train car, uncaring of how badly his feet dragged. The memory of that strange boy lingered and he casually looked around for any sign of a brown beanie and blonde hair. Unsurprisingly there was nothing. He wasn't sure he liked this new inventive way his mind had decided to fuck with him. 

He left the platform, still engrossed in thought, when he practically slammed into Bull's naked burly chest. He had only a second to yelp before being pulled into a hug so tight he was certain he could hear his ribs creak.

"Dorian," Bull said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes, that's me," Dorian groaned, "Now put me down!" _  
_

"Missed you too," Bull laughed, regrettably setting him down. "Let's get you to the hotel, you look about ready to fall over."

"First I need a bloody shower," Dorian said, following Bull to the parking lot. The sight of Bull trying to wiggle his horns through a vehicle door looked ridiculous the first time and still just as ridiculous the fourteenth. He'd seen specialty cars crafted for qunari which always made it ridiculously easy to tell which one you  _didn't_ want to vandalize. Even if it was built for a qunari Dorian had to slouch in his seat a bit to avoid getting smacked in the eye.

"You deserve it after that stunt you just pulled off." The car engine was a welcoming rumble under Dorian's feet compared to the disjointed rolling of the train.

"I am very good at what I do," Dorian said, his smile tired but genuine as they pulled out of the lot. His mind inadvertently went back to that boy again and _damn him_ , why couldn't he stop thinking about it? It was clearly a hallucination, nothing worth mulling over. He tapped his fingers against the dashboard in an attempt to distract himself.

"Hey, Bull," Dorian finally said, watching the station disappear as Bull turned the corner.

"Yeah?"

Should he tell him? Would he think him simply unhinged, suspect him of falling apart? They always liked to say that about the bright 'Vinty ones. He knew Bull wouldn't say it but his thoughts were his own, entirely out of Dorian's control.

" . . . Wake me when we get there," is what Dorian settled on instead, and closed his eyes.


	3. 01010100 01110010 01110101 01110011 01110100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finishing this one was really hard because of brainweird bullshit and school. anyway, thanks for being so patient all. trigger warning ahead for mentions of canon homophobia/conversion therapy. oh and the rating's been bumped up for brief descriptions of sex. enjoy.

Dorian wakes to silver light spilling across his arm from half-closed blinds. The bleary shape of Iron Bull sits hunched over a desk almost comically small in comparison, tapping away on a laptop built to withstand larger fingers. It makes Dorian’s stylish workhorse of a netbook look like a modest tablet.

“Hey there sleeping beauty,” Bull said without turning his head, fingers surprisingly nimble as he types. Well, maybe not so surprisingly if his knotwork is anything to go by.

“Where’s my handsome prince to come wake me with true love’s kiss?” Dorian groaned, regrettably pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Sorry, that only comes with a suite upgrade.”

“That was one of the least clever things I’ve heard from you in a while. When was the last time you slept?”

“This morning.“ Bull gestures with a slight head tilt toward the clock that currently reads  _9:12 pm_  in neon red.  "I tried waking you but you had this cute little puddle of drool on your pillow and your hair was sticking up funny, I just couldn’t do it.”

Dorian’s noise of disgust only made Bull’s smile turn into a grin. When he finally realizes  _why_  Bull was grinning he nearly leaps from the bed – key word here being “nearly”, it was too cold to do more than sort of dramatically slap his hand over his face.

“Oh,” Dorian growled, “Oh no, Bull, you  _didn’t_.”

“Hey relax, I only sent a couple of pics to all of the Chargers. And Josie. And maybe Leliana. And the Boss.”

“I’m going to murder you, Bull,” Dorian said, looking nothing short of horrified as he fixed his mussed ‘stache, “Murder your face clean off. I will murder you so _hard_  your ancestors will feel the wrath of mine all the way through your family line and–”

“Save it until after you get your royal ass out of bed and watch this vid.”

Dorian let out a scandalized grunt and finally shucked off the covers, stumbling less than gracefully over to Bull’s side. The screen at least made it easier to see through his daze.

Bull tapped the screen twice and the video filled the entirety of it. The logo on the top right was Lydes Local 6 Station. Not international then. The news anchor was a human woman with blonde hair styled into a relatively tame coif considering Orlesian standards.

“We’ve just received breaking news regarding one of White Spire’s backup stations,” she said, “Yes, it … It appears a terrorist attack has caused an explosion of some sort. Complications also arose with the backup generator but whether this is linked has been unconfirmed. Citizens and business owners in the Grande Royeux sector went without power for a total of seven hours. Local Val Royeaux enforcement has collaborated on a security sweep with high ranking Templar officers–”

Bull tapped again on the screen, freezing the clip on a helicopter view of smoke billowing from the facility.

“Alright, tell me what was off about that entire thing,” Bull said, leaning back in his chair.

“What, aside from everything?” Dorian sniffed, carelessly draping his arms over Bull’s shoulders. It wasn’t his fault the lug was so warm and perfect for laying on.

“Well, yeah,” Bull said, tilting his head. This close together Dorian could feel the rumble of his words all the way to his chest. It was strangely soothing. “But what, specifically, was outside the realm of usual Chantry fuckery?”

“It’s too early for this, Bull,” Dorian whined, pressing his face into the back of Bull’s head.

“You’ve been asleep for the past 15 hours. Come on, you can figure this out.”

Dorian’s next bout of whining was wordless as he mulled it over. The Chantry controlled every syllable that news anchors uttered this close to the capital, true. This meant 98% of their broadcasts were propaganda and the other 2% were blasé advertisements, true. Every news anchor’s hairstyle was an abomination in the eyes of the Maker, also true.

His hands slapped lightly against Bull’s chest as he reared his head back, eyes going wide with epiphany.

“Did they say  _terrorist_?”

“Bingo,” Bull said, content to stay right where he was. “Seems a bit weird, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t understand. That word has been practically banned on all major news channels since the Kirkwall Uprising.”

“Yeah. But it’s not a reactive panic thing. Using the word here was tactical.” Bull’s brows furrowed and Dorian could see the faint glow of his cybernetic eye in the screen’s reflection. It was beautiful and Dorian had told Bull so a few times in the heat of passion. He resolved to say it a few more times out of it.

“How is this tactical, exactly?” Dorian asked, lips pursing, “Kirkwall isn’t a part of history anyone’s forgotten. Using the word terrorist here will make that memory all the more vivid.”

“Exactly.” Bull was a bit sad to feel Dorian’s solid weight and heat shift off of him as he returned to the bed. “They want people to remember Kirkwall right now. That fear’s stuck with everybody, even the kids too young to remember the details.”

Dorian laid back down in the bed and stared at the ceiling, mulling over that idea. “They know something but not enough, is that it?”

“I’m thinking so, yeah,” Bull said, shutting his laptop and rising from his seat in a stretch. His fingers brushed the ceiling for Koslun’s sake. “Your bootkit’s been pretty helpful so far. I’ve been able to piece together most of their reports. They’ve narrowed it down to an overload but not one poor bastard can figure out where the order came from. There’s no origin point for the override on their system.”

“They won’t find it, either, seeing as it’s on my person,” Dorian said, grinning despite himself. He still felt a surge of pride about the whole thing, pleasantly different from his apprehension yesterday. Sleep does wonders for the conscious.

“You got that right.” Bull’s weight causes the bed to dip and Dorian hastily scuttled to the side. _Finally_ , he thought. “Still though, they played a damn tricky hand. If the inquisition owns up to the explosion they’re labeled as terrorists off the bat.”

“Not officially but that will be public consensus. Damn the Chantry and its subtle manipulation of its own citizenry.” There was heat to that curse, his hand curling into a fist on his stomach. “I must seem like quite the hypocrite right now, I know. Maker knows just how tightly controlled Tevinter’s news stations are.”

“Dorian, I’m from the Ben-Hassrath. You don’t need to tell me privacy is a thing of the past.” He usually avoided bringing up the Ben-Hassrath-thing when they were sharing a bed together, or even the same room, but the comment didn’t seem to make Dorian more uncomfortable this time at all.

“That might be true but I think this room is private enough.” Dorian reached out to place his hand casually on Bull’s thigh, rubbing it through those hideous old pants. He wouldn’t be forced to look at them much longer anyway if he had his way. Based on the subtle shift in Bull’s expression it looked like Bull was going to let him.

“What do you have in mind?”

Bull slid on top of him easily, lazily, as if it was some Sunday afternoon on an Antivan beach villa instead of a mediocre hotel room in the middle of Orlais. His hands were calloused and warm and practically engulfed his entire head as Bull’s own bent down in a kiss.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorian said airily, legs wrapping around Bull’s torso as best they could, “Something featuring you pounding me mercilessly into this mattress, perhaps?”

Bull’s grin was a unique blend of lewd and affectionate that Dorian’s heart was still trying to figure what to do with.

“I can do that,” Bull said in a breathless little laugh, and kissed him again.

* * *

Dorian’s certain no one heard their chatter about their highly illegal sabotaging of Templar property, but he’s certain everyone can hear him moaning Bull’s name 3 floors down. He says things that would turn a Chantry sister’s face purple with shock and make a spirit pale. He’s shocked too because he’s starting to mean more of it.

* * *

The shower has 10 unique settings and they use every single one of them. Dorian can barely stand and Bull holds him easily, one arm hooked underneath his elbow. Dorian has more fun than he probably should lathering Bull up, sliding his tips over the rippling muscles at his sides and the tough bulge of his belly. There’s no way for them to slot perfectly together here but they manage anyway.

“I’m proud of what you did back there,” Bull said appropos of nothing.

“It was nothing, really.” Dorian’s cheeks are red from the heat and they turn even redder at the compliment.

“Modesty? Who are you and what’ve you done with Dorian?”

“I’m not being modest at all. For me it was hardly a challenge.” Dorian’s voice echoed airily off the porcelain walls. He feels enveloped in the heat, in Bull. A warm snort sprays water across his shoulder.

“Now that’s more like it.”

Dorian turns around suddenly and Bull takes a step back, blinking in surprise. Dorian’s kiss is just as sudden and he smiles though it the entire time.

“Thank you, Bull,” Dorian said, “For all of my untoward comments these past couple of days … I admittedly haven’t shown off my best.”

Bull’s never described anyone as radiant before but here Dorian is, eyes soft and glowing and  _open_. Pulling him in for another kiss is an impulse he refuses to deny.

“Apology accepted, big guy,” Bull cooed, “Now scrub my back.”

Dorian groans and splashes water in Bull’s face. For the first time since he ran away from home he feels something suspiciously similar to happiness curling in his chest.

* * *

Bull’s hands wander and Dorian returns the favor. He spends his time mapping every scar, curious but careful, gazes meeting as often as the tips of their fingers do.

"So, you ready for round two?” Bull asked in a throaty rumble. Outside light breaches the blinds and bleeds across the carpet, their naked bodies, Bull’s half lidded eyes. Both are green but only one is glowing.

“Oh I don’t know, I was planning to draw this out with some pillow talk.” Dorian’s lips twist in a wry little smile as he raises his hand, brushes his thumb across the thick scar tissue below Bull’s eye. He could swear he hears the clicking  little mechanical parts of it as the pupil expands.

“Going soft on me?" Bull huffed, "Can’t say I’m complainin’.”

“I can assure you I’ll be quite hard in a few minutes.”

Bull’s laughter, in that moment, feels like Dorian’s entire world.

* * *

  
He also laughs during the sex when Dorian’s leg cramps up and he gets a face full of pillow feathers. It’s worth it. It’s  _so_  worth it.

* * *

  
The bottle of Sun Blonde between them is a welcome addition that Bull conveniently placed on the inquisition’s tab under work related expenses. Dorian’s loose from fucking, face down and looking ready to fall asleep again.

“I can say with confidence that this drab hotel stay hasn’t been entirely unsatisfactory,” Dorian said, voice muffled into the pillow, “even if you can find much better for half the price back home.”

“Can’t imagine why a guy like you would want to leave,” Bull snorted.

“Hmmm.“ Dorian’s expression is contemplative as he pushes himself up to his elbows. "You really want to know?”

Bull can tell the conversation’s quickly slipping somewhere he hadn’t expected it to go. He keeps his touch grounding more than passionate, a simple press of calloused fingertips against Dorian’s spine.

“Dorian, you don’t have to tell me anything. I want to be someone you can come to without oblig–”

“That’s not what I asked,” Dorian said, humor in his voice fading. He sits up and places his hand on Bull’s chest, curls it over the drumming of his heart. “Do. You want. To Know?”

“Well, yeah,” Bull said, lips twitching in a frown. Something in Bull’s stomach sours when he sees something like resignation flit across Dorian’s fave.

“Then I’ll tell you.” Dorian lets go but not completely, bare ass catching the cyan glow slipping between the steel blinds. Bull’s no artist but it’s a pretty picture, one he’ll keep to himself in darker times. He leans back on one hand and lets the other trail over the dip between Dorian’s shoulderblades, still vaguely damp with sweat. “Give me the bottle. I’ll need liquid courage for this melodramatic tale.”

“You? The unflappable ‘Vint needing courage?” Bull intends to keep his tone light and this one hits its mark, thankfully, Dorian’s furrowed brows softening a bit. They soften even more when he’s handed the bottle.

“I know. Keep it a secret, it would destroy my family’s reputation should word get out.” He swallows a hearty gulp of Sun Blonde without even flinching and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Scandalous indeed. “Well, there’s also the ‘fucking a Qunari’ bit, but I’m sure that would pale in comparison.”

“You’re doing that thing again,” Bull huffed, lightly pinching the skin above Dorian’s ass, “The deflection thing. Come on, you got your bottle and took your swig.” He pulls his hand back before it can be swatted away.

“What was that about obligation and feeling comfortable?” Dorian’s retort has no real heat to it. For being such an inscrutable hacker his face can’t hide behind a million strings of code. It’s so naked, so uncharacteristically vulnerable Bull can’t bring himself to look away.

“Sometimes you need to push out of your comfort zone,” Bull said, placing his hand again on Dorian’s back, “Come on. We’ve got all night.” Talk about comfort zones, touching him like this is … different. Usually Dorian’s out of the door a few minutes after they’re done fucking, neither of them lingering on the silence afterward. It felt like a service, in a way, though Bull had no reason to complain about it. He doesn’t feel any need to complain about it now either, even if the rules have changed.

Dorian’s staring at the wall now and Bull realizes he’s not seeing the wall, not seeing anything in particular. He doesn’t push anymore. Finally a sigh leaves Dorian’s swollen lips and his hands wring the sheets.

“I’m sure you’re not familiar with the intricacies of Tevinter politics so I’ll keep this brief,” he said, “Where I come from, a relationship between two men or two women is strictly physical. Soporati aren’t held to exactly the same standard, but an Altus is expected to … carry on the family line, so to speak.”

Bull let out a derisive snort. “Heard your people know how to alter sex cells, make them one or the other. That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Dorian sighed irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the complexities of Tevinter tradition but it’s seen as weak to resort to that method. The procedure is incredibly expensive and though an Altus can usually afford it, it’s just … not acceptable. If you must rely on technology to carry on your family line then you are not worthy of propagating it.”

“You don’t believe that,” Bull said, letting his hand fall back to his side. It’s a statement of fact, blunt observation.

“No,” Dorian said, grip tightening in the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white, “No, I don’t. But my father certainly does.”

Bull stays quiet, watching every flexing knuckle on Dorian’s hand. He can’t pretend to understand just what Dorian feels here, even if he can see the surface of it on every tensed muscle in his body.

“No, he would’ve been content to rely on procedures far less reputable to maintain status quo,” Dorian said, tone bitter at the edges and harder than titanium. He takes a deep breath and the cloudiness in his eyes clears somewhat, some internal storm quelled but not completely.

“I’ll spare you the details of my eventual departure, as clever as they were.” Dorian’s tone is nearly back to normal, only a trace of anger left in his words as he said, “I will however mention that a lot of snooping and hacking was involved. It made me feel like a true spy instead of a sniveling nerd with a computer. Anyway, long story short I found out that my father was only a few days away from preparing me for a surgical procedure he’d conveniently never mentioned.”

His lips curl into the smallest of sneers. “It was to be a surprise, I imagine.”

Bull watched him take another gulp of Sun Blonde and nearly shudder as it went down. His own body echoed the sentiment.

“I found a 10 ml bottle of ketamine, expensive surgical instruments that would leave a lesser family destitute, and a book so old it referred to blood-based energy manipulation as magic.” Dorian said that last word as if it was poison in his mouth. “ _Blood magic_ , of all the arcane practices more legend than fact. That wasn’t the worst bit, believe it or not.”

Bull said nothing, reaching out to graze his knuckles against Dorian’s elbow. Dorian’s fingers relax slightly with the contact.

“I found a miniature fridge in my father’s office stocked to the brim with blood bags.” Bull could see him paling slightly in the dark at that and he knew then what Dorian saw wasn’t him and wasn’t the wall. Enough time spent on Seheron taught him some moments never really leave, they just get grainy at the edges, playing over and over again like a glitched holo.

“I didn’t particularly want to get closer to them but I did and … they had a name written on them. A slave that had worked for my house since I was an infant.”

The, “ah, shit,” the leaves Bull is more breath than word.

“My father had always prided himself in being so attentive to details. I just didn’t realize how deranged he’d become. As if a botched attempt at neurosurgery wasn’t enough, he was prepared to add so-called blood magic to that list.” The hurt leaks out no matter how hard Dorian tries to gloss it over with that familiar haughtiness, jaw tight and adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “There were so many bags I don’t think the slave survived. I tried not to think about it, really, I just ran.”

Bull’s tongue feels unwieldy then, an unfamiliar entity in his mouth. Slowly he reaches out, placing his hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Dorian, “ Bull’s breath is heavy when he pushes it out through his nose. “None of that shit is on you.”

“It shouldn’t of been but it was,” Dorian said, his chortle humorless and a bit wet around the edges, “It’s typical isn’t it? I was so blinded by what my father had been I didn’t see what he’d become.“ Surprisingly enough he isn’t crying. He might of lost the ability to on this particular subject but it’s enough for Bull to take note, enough for something in his heart to fracture.

Bull’s hand stays on his shoulder until Dorian finally raises his head. The lids are definitely red, glossiness straddling the cusp of actual tears. He raises his hand from Dorian’s shoulder to his face, brushes his thumb under one red-rimmed eye.

“You didn’t drain their blood, Dorian, your dad did that.  He bought all of that equipment, not you.”

“He was so desperate but he didn’t account for the fact I was too. So I left,” Dorian said, not letting go of Bull’s hand as he sat up, “And here I am now, back to my old ways of being drunk between another man’s sheets. Nothing’s changed, really.” The sniffle on the end happens without comment and he scrubs at his eyes furiously with his free hand.

“Yeah it has.” Bull pulls him in closer until they’re practically hip to hip and Dorian goes with little resistance. “You’re not in that shithole, for one thing.”

“Hey, it may be a shithole but it’s my shithole,” Dorian laughed shakily, bumping his head against Bull’s shoulder in a way that was more endearing than it had any right to be. “And I still happen to care about it.”

“You’re crazy,” Bull huffed, grin splitting his face just as sure as it split the tension between them.

“I’ve been called worse in bed,” Dorian huffed, affixing Bull with a look equal parts challenging and playful, “is this the best pillowtalk you can manage?”

“Give me a minute and the booze, I’ll think of something.”

“No, you ass, this is all mine,” Dorian chuckled, downing what remained of the bottle before kissing Bull on the mouth. Bull’s laughter bubbles between his beery breath and it tastes too pungent and neither of them care at all.

They fall into companionable silence again until the chill creeps through the arches of their feet, then Dorian presses his face against Bull’s bicep and tucks his knees against his chest. “I’m exhausted,” he confessed, “And I’m going to use you as a glorified body pillow and you can’t stop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it big guy,” Bull chortled, pulling Dorian back into bed and yanking the covers over them both.

* * *

Outside the night pulses with a life of its own. A lone boy stands in the middle of the street, head craned to stare directly at a shuttered window. Two men are resting behind it, two men with elevated heartrates evening out into sleep.

The boy doesn’t sleep. It was easy to hack into the large qunari’s laptop and take control of his webcam’s microphone. He filtered through the hours of recorded sound until he found the words he needed: inquisition. Bootkit. Explosion.

He turns away from the hotel, body thrumming with a new purpose. No one sees him walk unhurriedly into the darkness.

 


End file.
